


The Lie is Better than the Reality

by Ickleroonilwazlib



Category: The 100
Genre: Psychological issues, mental issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5161970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ickleroonilwazlib/pseuds/Ickleroonilwazlib
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Octavia character study</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lie is Better than the Reality

Octavia is awake but her eyes don’t open. There’s no sound around her, no smell, just a void where life once was. Her breathing is loud in her ears and if she remains still for a while longer, she loses cognizance of her limbs until she swears she’s just floating consciousness. The lie is better than the reality anyway.

There’s a clank from the flap on the door and a food tray is pushed in, dropping to the floor with a clatter that resonates loudly in the otherwise empty room. This is the only way she knows what time of day it is; the meal doesn’t consists of bread and so it must be dinner. She ignores it for a while but the smell wafts towards her and her stomach betrays her with a loud rumble.

She sighs, finally prying open her eyes and all but throws herself off the bed and to the floor. The room is grey with no other identifying feature. The light seems to come from the walls themselves so there’s not even the electrical buzz that lulled her to sleep back home. If she could call it that; it was yet another cell with another name.

There’s a single stack of books by the corner; books she’s read at least five times. To the side, there’s a notepad and a pen which she rarely uses. A single hard bed against the opposite wall and that is the entirety of her room. It is bleak and constantly cold. The thin blanket they gave her does nothing to fight off the chill of space but sometimes she gets so inexplicably cold that even if she had the thickest wool around her, she would still shiver uncontrollably. Once a month, the almost unnoticeable scars beneath her bellybutton and lower stomach will itch uncontrollably. It was one of her punishments for being born; by having her tubes tied, the Ark could insure her mother’s mistake could be remedied–or at least it meant they would have one less future mouth to feed.

Octavia shoves the food into her mouth with a vengeance, tasting the utter blandness that’s considered a meal. She never thought she’d want to go back to her old life; she was still imprisoned in one way or another but the company of her mother and brother were greatly missed. She shook her head suddenly, wanting to shake the thought of her mother out of her brain, and continued shaking until she became dizzy and disoriented. The Ark is a cruel place; they had made her and Bellamy watch as their mother was floated, as if her punishment wasn’t bad enough. 

From one hole to another.

She finishes her meal slowly, her head still dizzy and making her stomach act funny, before shoving the tray back out of the flap.

Sitting cross-legged, she stares at the flap for what feels like forever. The world around her contracts to this single spot on the door and the only companion she has is her own breathing. For days, maybe weeks, maybe even months, her only proof of life is the constant sound of her heartbeat against her ears. Sometimes, she hears someone else. Someone not herself. And at first, she really thought she was going crazy but now— she doesn’t think so anymore. There’s someone there. Someone whispering in her ear. Then another joins in. And another. Until she can’t tell who’s who. 

There’s a loud sound of the tray bring scraped off the floor and Octavia sighs in relief. That would be the only contact she’s had with anyone for the day and it lets her breathe deeply once again.

She leans back against the cold floor and stares at the otherwise empty grey ceiling. The voices start whispering again; singing to her, yelling at her, telling her she’s loved but it’s always drowned by the scream her mother makes as the guards drag her away for sentencing. Octavia is not only a mistake but a burden upon her people. An unwanted person taking up air for those who actually belong here. It’s something the Council has repeated to her like a mantra. Bellamy would have been better off without her. He could have have had a better life with their mother. A life without worrying constantly, every damn second of the day, if she’d be discovered. A life where her episodes of uncontrollable crying wouldn’t be hushed because they cared about her pain; rather, because they didn’t want to be discovered.

The rage builds inside her belly and spreads to her limbs and she finds herself screaming and kicking the walls, clawing at her own hair and cursing the only two people she’s known to the high heavens. The voices yell with her, berating her, accusing her, they tear her from limb to limb and she swears their hands are on her, around her throat, ready to choke the air out of her. She yells and yells until her voice runs hoarse and the guard kicks at her door, ordering her to “shut the hell up, ya maniac!”

She does and welcomes the pain in her scalp, her legs, her fingers. She’s broken off a nail and the stinging pain is pleasant comfort to her. There’s a new smell in the cell; the metallic tinge of blood, and she rubs it below her nostrils so she can carry it around as long as she can. Octavia curls into a ball and closes her eyes.

She’s awake but her eyes don’t open. Her breathing is loud in her ears and if she remains still for a while longer, she loses cognizance of her limbs until she swears she’s just floating consciousness. The lie is better than the reality anyway.


End file.
